


Kiss Me Through the Phone

by thegirlinthedeathfrisbee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Instruction, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Skype, Smut, Unilock, sherlock/john, webcam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:11:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirlinthedeathfrisbee/pseuds/thegirlinthedeathfrisbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Distance makes the heart grow fonder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Me Through the Phone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheSevenPercentSolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSevenPercentSolution/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, Liss.

John's phone buzzes beside him, the sound loud in the quiet.   
  
His automatic response is to check the time upon his laptop--and according to that, it's just about two-thirty in the morning. For the moment, he casts aside the thought that maybe he ought to actually get some sleep. His mum would be wanting him up early, he thinks, to help with the cooking of Christmas dinner or something. And he knows from the years past that she rises with the sun come Christmas day.   
  
But he doesn't lay down, not quite yet.   
  
He picks up his phone and he should know before he even looks at it who this message is from.  But somehow it still surprises him to see the name 'Sherlock' appear on his screen. He opens the message and his brows furrow gently, giving his laptop a quick side glance.   
  
_Get on Skype. SH_  
  
 _Bit late for that, don't you think?_  
  
 _Do it anyway. SH_  
  
John rolls his eyes and sets his phone down, grabs up his laptop and shoves his earphones into his ears. He does, in fact, do as his absolutely arrogant boyfriend asks of him, watches the familiar log in screen load its various logos and make its silly sounds. The moment he appears online, Sherlock is "calling". John's got no idea what he looks like right now--he thinks he probably looks like an exhausted, unrested Uni student. Which he is, and so he clicks accept and the window opens up to show a darkened room and the light of the screen illuminating the dark sheets of a bed.   
  
"Can you hear me?" Sherlock's voice comes from somewhere off to the left, John thinks, and he replies with a quiet, "Yeah. Where are you?"   
  
"Doesn't matter. Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?" Sherlock's voice asks, though Sherlock is still nowhere to be seen. John rolls his eyes at the screen and slouches further into his bed. "I could say the same of you, you know," he mumbles, clicking away to continue his internet browsing. There's a small commotion of noise before the half-dressed frame of Sherlock Holmes appears, flopping onto his bed and immediately squinting at the screen. "Ah, you're browsing pornography," he states matter-of-factly, grabbing up a pillow and shoving it beneath his chest and chin. "Judging by your sudden look of embarrassment, I'm going to say that I've guessed quite correctly. Shall I guess which type you're looking at precisely?"   
  
"Is that why you wanted me online?" John asks with a huff, minimizing the window (which does, in fact, have porn paused on it) and focusing on the little camera at the top of the screen. "To check up on what I'm doing?"  
  
"Don't be dull," Sherlock chides, shaking his head slowly as he rests his temple against the pillow. John looks over the digital version of Sherlock's face and it smiles cheekily at him. "It's gay pornography, isn't it?" he asks, voice crystal clear and reverberating in John's head. John wonders sometimes if Sherlock's got telepathy or something--he knows it's ridiculous, and he knows that it's just a hunch, but the tiniest of flush reaches John's throat. "Looking for tips," he replies, because he also knows that the computer screens lighting isn't going to show the fact that he's just blushed.   
  
"You're using pornography for tips on anal sex?" Sherlock inquires.  
  
"Who said anything about anal?" John retorts, brows lifting as he looks back to Sherlock's face. "I could've just as easily been watching _fellatio_ , you know." His lips pull into a smirk and Sherlock's do as well, and he knows he's been caught in the act. "All right," he confesses to the screen, "So I was. Just curious, a bit."  
  
"Curiosity killed the cat, you know," Sherlock replies.  
  
"Maybe. You know, I don't think it does anything for me," John says with a small frown and a pull of his brows.  He pulls it back up as though for emphasis, head tilting gently as he presses play. The video begins once again, and the sounds of grunts and slaps resume. He wets his lips and shrugs. "Don't know. I mean, the bloke on top seems to be having an all right time, but the one taking it up the arse seems a bit pained."  
  
"It can be uncomfortable if not performed adequately," Sherock concedes simply.  
  
"I mean," John says, head tilting the other way and brows furrowing more, "I understand the stretching and all wouldn't exactly feel like rubbing silk against your arse but--" He stops there, and a small, quiet chuckle emits from the other end of the screen. He looks to Sherlock's face, laid serenely against a folded pillow, and the corner of his lip quirks into a small smile. "What's it like? Straight from the horses mouth," he asks, slouching and readjusting his laptop to his chest.  
  
"Heaven," Sherlock replies with a dreamy smile.  
  
John rolls his eyes, but his half smile turns full on and suddenly he's grinning. "That's not what I meant--not what I expected from you either, are you high?"  
  
Sherlock huffs and looks to the screen with a scowl. "For once I attempt some hint at blatant affection and you ask about my intoxication levels," he says, frowning and dropping his head back into his pillow theatrically. John snickers quietly, cover his mouth as he does so. "You avoided answering whether you were or not," he notes.  
  
"It wasn't avoidance," Sherlock replies with a quirk of his brow, "It was merely stating how skewed your priorities were."  
  
"Is that a yes?"  
  
"It's only a slight hint of a yes."  
  
A slow nod begins from John's side and suddenly Sherlock begins moving, lifting himself from the bed and adjusting the entirety of the way he's been situated. A light flickers on from the bedside and the bedroom he's staying in is suddenly dimly illuminated. "You can see me, yes?" Sherlock inquires, settling the laptop upon some sort of surface and scooting backward. John nods, then says, "Yeah. Something happen? We should--"  
  
He stops right in the middle of his thought though. Because Sherlock is very suddenly tugging at the pants he's wearing, pulling the down over his hips and over his thighs. He's pushing them down his legs until there is Sherlock, stark naked and quite pleased with himself. John doesn't realize his mouth is hanging open until Sherlock makes a motion with two fingers--miming shutting it for him. He licks his lips and readjusts in his place, pulls at already stretched pyjamas and looks over his screen. "What's this?" he asks.  
  
"Thought it might be obvious," Sherlock replies in a low rumble that vibrates in John's ears. A slow hand curls around his slow-forming erection and he bites at his bottom lip. His brow quirks as he looks back to the screen. "We're both well aware of your actual intentions in perusing pornography. So I'm making the suggestion that we skip the middle man entirely," he explains quite simply, "And if you oppose, you're more than welcome to simply watch. Or disconnect, I suppose."  
  
As though John would be daft enough to disconnect right then. He scoffs as though insulted by the very idea, runs his tongue over his lips and shifts just enough to get his hand down the front of his pants. "Even _I'm_ not that stupid," he replies quietly, fingers curled round his cock with a delicate little shudder of appreciation. "Do I get to just perv you while you have a wank or--"  
  
"You may instruct me, if you like," Sherlock says, scooting downward to prop himself upon his elbow. His thighs spread and he peers at the screen from between them. John nods, squeezes himself slowly and exhales noisily. "Right, good," he says, a bit lamely. "Keep--keep doing that."   
  
"Just this?" Sherlock asks, hand making long, languid motions over himself.  
  
"Yeah, just--that. For now," John murmurs. His eyes dart around the screen, take in the sight before him. There should be something absolutely illegal about this, maybe, but John is very, very grateful that it isn't. "Make it wetter," he commands, doing much the same for himself with a motion toward his mouth. He watches Sherlock do just that--a hand brought up to his mouth, a tongue flattened to the palm and brought back down to cock. He makes a quiet noise of pleasure in the back of his throat and his head tips back, exposes miles of pale throat for the camera. John thinks of kissing, of licking, of biting and sucking at that throat and it causes his own spike of appreciation. "Wetter," he demands, and Sherlock obliges quite willingly.   
  
John likes this. John thinks this may be better than all the pornography he's ever seen, in any medium. He thinsk he may like instructing a person to come. He gives one word commands--"faster", "harder", "slower", "squeeze"--until Sherlock is writhing against the mattress. His hips are rocking up into his hand, and quiet sounds are emitting from his lips, and John is having a rather hard time keeping himself solidly placed against his mattress. He's getting dizzy, slightly, the sensation of blood draining from one head to fill the other causing comfortable, familiar delirium. "Stop," he demands, and Sherlock gives a whimper as his hand stutters to a stop. He breathes deeply, shuddering on the exhale, and gives the screen a heavy-lidded look. John gives a grin he's not certain Sherlock can actually see. "I wanna watch you finger your arse," he says, giving the heavy erection in his palm a firm squeeze.  
  
And as though Sherlock cannot help but comply, he readjusts and props his head up against the footboard. He brings his freehand up to his mouth and spits, then carefully dips the hand between his leg and spreads it over his hole. John adjusts, feels absolutely voyeuristic quite suddenly as Sherlock wets his lips. It's with a slow, aching groan and an arch of his back does one long middle finger slip itself inside of him. "Jesus," John breathes, hips giving some instinctive lurch at the sight.   
  
Both of Sherlock's hands move--one gives himself long, firm strokes and the other slides in and out in slow succession. John can feel his breath get caught in his chest, lips parting without his permission. "Tell me what you're thinking," he says, and it's not what he'd meant to say, but it comes out anyway. Sherlock hums in appreciation and John can see a dizzy sort of smile spread over his lips. "You," he rumbles, shifting his hips against both hands and releasing a quiet sound. "Imagining it's you here, touching me-- _fucking_ me," he adds, and it's punctuated with a moan that isn't at all quieted. John's hand moves quicker against him, forcing his hips to stay seated against the mattress. His eyes want to close, and they want him to have nothing blocking him from picturing just that, but he can't seem to stop watching the writhing sight before him. "You like being fucked, don't you?" John murmurs, more words coming out without filtering. "I know you do. Being bent over, folded in half--"  
  
" _God_ yes," Sherlock breathes, eyes shutting and jaw clenching.  
  
"--Harder the better. Like it when it /hurts/--"  
  
" _John_ ," Sherlock whimpers, the entirety of his body stuttering with strict self-control.  
  
"Come," John demands in a growl, and he grits his teeth as he feels it smack right into his belly. "Come _now_."   
  
It's as though Sherlock is specifically acting on his commands. John's expecting some effort, expecting him to focus and rough himself up a bit to finally reach his own orgasm. But John tells him to come, and Sherlock comes right then with bucking hips and uncontrollable noises and quiet pleas. And when all is said and done, John's got a very large wet spot on his pyjamas and Sherlock's got it glistening on his own belly.   
  
Both of them take a moment before coming back to themselves. John pulls a slightly aching hand from beneath the fabric and forces himself to sit upright just a little more. He watches Sherlock search absently for something to wipe himself clean with and settles for the previously discarded pants. It takes a few moments before Sherlock is finally shutting out the light once again, is back on his belly and beneath his covers. "You make brilliant faces when you're coming," John says with a smile.  
  
"I've got no idea how I'm to reply to that," Sherlock says drowsily.   
  
"I like them better when I'm making you make them," John adds.  
  
Sherlock hums, "Yes, me too."  
  
"I miss you," John says.  
  
"I'm sure you do," Sherlock replies.  
  
"That's very encouraging, thanks."  
  
Sherlock smiles and lifts his head up from the pillow he's taken to resting on once again. He purses his lips toward the camera and makes a theatric kissing sound before letting his head flop back down to the pillow. A moment of silence passes over them. "Wish you were here," Sherlock slurrs, an arm wrapping up around his pillow.  
  
"Few more days, yeah?"   
  
"Few more days," Sherlock agrees.  
  
"Go to bed, Sherlock," John says.  
  
"You first."  
  
"Done and done," John says with a quiet laugh. He wets his lips and the cursor hovers over the red button on the screen. "Good night, Sherlock," he says, watching the slow breathing form of Sherlock Holmes for a moment. The digital version lifts its head and looks to the screen, lids heavy and lips pulled into an exhausted smile. "I miss you," he says finally, quiet and confessional.  
  
"Yeah, I miss you too."  
  
"Good night, John."   
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even sure what to say, but I felt like I should say something here. I hope you liked it, Lissinator. I don't know how I went from fluff to smut to porn to fluff again but oop it happened. <3


End file.
